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'Til Death Do Us Part  by Haleth

A short time later they stood in front of Círdan’s Hall.

‘I’ve always wondered about this place,’ said Haleth. The hall was not the way she remembered it. The doors had always been open, even on cold winter nights, and there had always been a light in the tower that rose above the main body of the hall. Now the doors were closed and, judging by the vine that covered half of woodwork, they had been that way for quite some time.

‘How so?’ asked Inglor.

‘Círdan was a great Elf Lord and yet this place seems so ordinary,’ she said.

‘Cirdan would laugh to hear you call him a great lord,’ said Inglor, his voice filled with gentle humour.

‘But he is…was a great lord,’ Haleth insisted. ‘At least he was accounted as one among my people. He and his folk built the ships that first brought us to…’ she stopped abruptly.

‘To where, Haleth?’ Inglor asked gently.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, frowning.

‘And if you could sail anywhere, where would you go?’ he asked.

‘What?’ she asked. The question caught her off guard.

‘If you could sail anywhere, where would you go?’ he repeated.

‘Well…I…don’t know,’ said Haleth slowly. ‘I don’t really have anywhere to go.

‘Besides,’ she continued, scanning the empty docks. ‘It’s not like I’ll have the opportunity to sail anywhere. All of the ships are gone.’

‘I shall build another,’ said Inglor.

His words lanced through Haleth’s heart. How could she have been so blind? Of course he came to Mithlond because he planned to go home. A child could have seen it but she had been willfully blind. ‘I’ve been a fool!’ she silently berated herself. ‘I should have left him when I had the chance. I should have stayed in Lake Town. I should have stayed in Mirk…in Las Galen, or whatever they’re calling it these days and fought the giant spiders. I should have kept my word to myself. I should have left him before he could leave me!’

The gulls soared over the empty docks. Her hopes and expectations had been shattered, but the world was carrying on as though nothing untoward had occurred. It should be grey and raining rather than sunnyl. She glared at the calm water as though it had personally offended her.

Then she mentally shook herself; she was being childish.

Haleth slowly came back to herself and found Inglor studying her expectantly. Her eyes stung and there was a lump in her throat. She cleared her throat self-consciously.

‘I’m sorry, did you say something?’ she croaked.

‘I asked if you would please help me?’ he said.

Haleth stared at him in disbelief.

‘Why don’t you just carve my heart out with your dagger while you’re at it?’ she thought bitterly.

She wanted to scream at him, to beat him with her fists until he acknowledged the pain he was causing. 'I should have shoved him off the bridge.'

But Inglor had always been kind to her. He had rescued her more often than she cared to remember. He had always watched her back and had been, to the best of his strange, incomprehensible ability, a very good friend. It was hardly his fault she had fallen in love with him. When she was honest, which she did not want to be, she had to admit that Inglor had done nothing to encourage her tender feelings. He had no idea how his request made her feel.

And that, at least, was a small comfort.

As much as she wanted to slap his face and scream at him, she would feel badly later. He would not understand and it would spoil the little time they had left together.

He was her only friend and he had asked for her help. That much, at least, she could give him.

‘Of course I will,’ she said, proud of the steadiness of her voice.

He suddenly closed the distance between them and gently cupped her face. His hand was cool against her hot skin.

‘Haleth, are you well?’ he asked gently.

‘Well? Yes! Of course I’m well. Why wouldn’t I be well? I was well when I woke up this morning,’ she spluttered as she edged away from him. Her mind flayed for some way to change the subject.

‘We’ll need lumber,” she said, turning her back on him and wiping her burning eyes.

‘We’ll have to cut a few trees,’ she added. It had been a very long time since she had been involved in fashioning a boat. There were basic steps to follow, materials to be gathered. The trees would have to be cut and transported to Mithlond, which could take several weeks. Beams of various sizes and shapes would have to be split from the tree trunks and left to cure and that certainly would take months. It could be several seasons before construction could begin.

As well, they would need strong wool or linen for the sail and goodness knew where they would get it. The Hobbits might make serviceable sail cloth, but it seemed unlikely; from the little Haleth knew of them, the Hobbits were not sailors. She might be able to get the raw yarn from them, but it would take a very long time to weave the cloth, assuming she could find a working loom in Mithlond. And if they could not, there would take time to build one.

Above that, there was pitch to be gathered to tar the outer hull to keep out the sea. It would take time for the tar to set properly. All together, it would be months to gather the raw materials and that did not include the amount of time it would take to make all of the necessary tools.

Haleth’s spirits brightened considerably as she tallied up all of the factors that would delay Inglor’s final departure. It could be at least a year before the vessel would be seaworthy and this did not include the time they would need to secure the supplies he would need on his voyage.

‘That should not be necessary. I am certain Círdan has left sufficient raw materials for several ships to be made.

An involuntary bark of laughter burst from her lips.

‘Haleth?’ Inglor asked, concerned again.

Laughing mirthlessly, she motioned him away, shaking her head to show her continued good health.

‘I suppose we should find these materials,’ she said, stifling her hysteria.

‘Yes,’ said Inglor. ‘Let us look inside the old workshops. The supplies and tools should be there.’

They passed around the back of a small building that was built directly on the water’s edge.  An elven ship upon a starlit sea was depicted on the side.    

‘This was Círdan’s workshop,’ said Haleth.  The foam of the sea was traced in pearls and the stars were beryls. ‘It is so beautiful. It must have been difficult for Círdan to have left it, especially after so much time.’

Inglor examined the artwork.  ‘Perhaps,’ he said slowly. ‘But time weighs heavily upon these shores.  Much has changed since the Eldest…Elder Days.  Círdan and his folk left many other places behind.’

‘But that was out of necessity,’ said Haleth. It was far too easy to imagine Inglor in that ship, sailing away without her.  The mural seemed to dance before her eyes and she blinked furiously.  ‘Either because they were destroyed by an attacking army or because they were….’ The light of day faded while the ground trembled beneath her feet.  ‘Gone,’ she finished, shivering.

‘Drowned. Beleriand was drowned. How the world has changed.  Nothing is as it was,’ Inglor’s voice sounded as though it came from the depths of the ocean.

The weight of years settled upon Haleth.  The world had indeed changed; it had moved along without her.  Inglor’s companionship, as frustrating as it could be, had enabled her to forget this.  His departure would strip away the comforting illusion.  She would be alone and purposeless, left upon the shores of Middle-earth like so much rubbish.  Her shoulders slumped at the thought of a bleak, lonely future. 

Inglor made his way around Círdan’s workshop.  Haleth followed him, too deeply involved in her own self-pity to take further notice of her surroundings.  One instant they were walking, the next they were standing still. 

Inglor was in front of a door that led into a large, squat building.

‘Is it locked?  Half a moment.’ She reached into one of her many hidden pockets and produced a lock pick. 

‘Thank-you but that should not be necessary,’ he said, holding the door open for her. 

A dart of motion caught her eye as she entered the building.  Had Inglor slipped something up his sleeve?  No.  She had to have imagined it.

The room she stepped into was cavernous.  The light came from two high rows of windows that ran along both sides of the building.  Dust motes danced in the sunbeams that poured through the glass.

At one time the place would have been filled with the pounding of hammers and the songs of the Falathrim as they laboured upon the delicate ships meant to sail to the Furthermost West.  Now the only sound was the dull clumping of her boots across the floor. 

Inglor walked past her, moving with a purpose.  Haleth glared resentfully at his back as she stalked after him, absently noting shelves and workbenches along the way.  The echoes of her footsteps filled the room until it seemed as though an army was marching through the workshop.

Several piles of lumber were neatly stacked along the walls.  He examined the long, curved beams that Haleth imagined were meant to be keels.  A large lump formed in her throat.  She swallowed hard and coughed.  It would be mortally embarrassing to burst into tears.  There had to be something useful she could do. 

Turning away, her eyes lighted upon a workbench.  A set of plain but serviceable tools lay arranged on it.  She clomped over to it, silently cursing Inglor.  He was immortal.  What were a few decades to him?  Surely he could stay until she died of old age?  It wasn’t as though she expected to reach a ripe old age in any case.  With the life she led, she was rather surprised to have lasted as long as she had, which made it all the more unfair that he should leave now.

The tools lay before her.  They were plain, as far as elvish tools went, but more than serviceable.  She wondered if the elf who had left them here missed them in Valinor.  The very idea was risible.  Valinor was a paradise; nothing of Middle-earth would be worthy of regret or remembrance. 

Her eyes were burning again.  It had to be the dust. 

Without pausing to consider, she took the first two tools that came to her hands and stalked back towards Inglor, fuming the entire time.  Of course Inglor would not think of her once he sailed.  She examined his profile and wished he wasn’t so handsome. He would not think of her but she would never cease to remember him. 

The tools clattered onto the floor as Haleth tossed them at Inglor’s feet.  He leapt and whirled around.  ‘I though I’d get the tools,’ she said hoarsely.

‘That was thoughtful of you. Thank-you,’ he said. 

Haleth was seized by the uncomfortable urge to laugh and cry at the same time.  She made a wordless grunt and stormed back to the workbench, stomping like a warhorse the entire way.

Why did he have to be so unfailingly polite?  It was so much easier to shout at someone who was rude.  But Inglor was incapable of rudeness.  He was hardly able to raise his voice.  She grabbed another pair of tools and stalked back to the woodpile. 

The sharp report of metal hitting stone reverberated through the room as she half threw, half dropped them onto the floor.  She thought she saw Inglor wince.  No.  He couldn’t wince.  That was such a mortal thing to do.

‘Have you found what you need?’ she growled.

‘I…’ he began.

‘Good,’ she snapped before marching to the workbench once more.  If he had to leave, she wished he would just leave.  It would be like losing a tooth. The initial pain would be intense, but it would eventually fade. Living in close quarters with him for the time it took to build the ship would be slow torture. 

No.  The torture would come after he had sailed out of sight forever.

Another pair of tools sailed passed Inglor, narrowly missing him.  They bounced off the woodpile and clattered onto the floor.  Inglor clutched his ears as the noise reverberated around the room.  It sounded as though an invading army was pounding a battering ram against the doors.

‘Haleth?’ he said when the echoes had died away.

‘What?’

‘There are smaller workshops, I believe I would rather work in one of them.’

Haleth sighed and rolled her eyes.  It was all one of the same to her.

‘Fine.  Shouldn’t we take the tools with us?’ she said as he headed for the door. 

‘There should be another set elsewhere,’ he said as he bent to pick up the six hammers that littered the ground. ‘Besides, I believe we will need a larger variety than what seems to be available here.’ 





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